(Reading Chapters 1 and 2 will add perspective and heighten the readers' enjoyment of this story.)
It was a fact, an absolute fact, that Kelly Ann Peters was stunningly gorgeous. Not pretty, not gorgeous, but stunningly gorgeous.
And she had it all, a desirable husband from a prominent family, one with wealth and power in the community. All I had was the video.
Isn't it funny how good things come in small packages. For instance, there was the grainy video made of prim, proper and (at the time) virginal Kelly Ann Peters.
The vision of a prim, proper, virginal Kelly Ann Peters sucking off my friends Tom, Dan and I in rapid succession one fateful Saturday night was an unforgettable, erotic experience forever will be etched into our memory banks. Pure Kelly Ann caught in the act.
The fact that it never happened again was disappointing, but at least I had the video! That video was priceless when presented to young Kelly Ann weeks before her marriage to James Jackson, the guy every one of my friends hated. This guy was a total asshole, walking over anyone and everyone, a guy who came from a family of cash and used it to walk around with airs normally found by royalty.
He had made my life miserable, gotten me fired from a job, and you know what? He didn't even know me. He surely didn't know of my past with his pretty wife, when she and I were best friends growing up. He didn't have an inkling that I had a very special video of a provocative and sultry Kelly Ann Peters before she became Mrs. James B. Jackson.
And he most definitely didn't know that his lovely soon to be wife had sucked off my cock in the vestibule of the church on their wedding day.
That's right, his lovely loving wife let me tickle her tonsils just minutes before she said "I do." Then, standing demurely in front of the pastor, she kissed her husband with traces of my cum in her mouth. Take that, James B. Jackson. The jerk of a rich boy husband. Take that.
That was supposed to be the end of our little get even affair. Yes, it was a bit of blackmail, but then, deep down I think it excited her that she had one last fling, especially one so close to her saying "I do."
She could have said no. She could have called my bluff. She could have denied it, blamed it on alcohol, said we raped her, whatever. The story, though, was she didn't. And that thought was etched into my head. Just like the thought of her mouth around my cock right before walking up the aisle is blazed into my brain cells.
For me, the erotic pleasure was twofold. First, what guy wouldn't want Kelly Ann Peters sucking on his cock? Second, what guy who knew him ---- other than his best friend or maybe some of the guys who owed him something ---- wouldn't want to fuck over James The Jerk Jackson.
Kelly Ann was very special to me. Childhood friends, sure, but she was such a very nice girl. Of course, nice girls don't suck three cocks in succession in a teenage group grope, but nice in so many ways that, if that fateful night wasn't included, she'd be a perfect girl. But who could forget that night.
It made me kick myself that I gave the tape of her sucking exploits back to her as a "wedding present." That was the deal. She performed, I gave back the tape. Little did she know I kept a copy, but, gentleman I was, I kept to my promise of keeping the little glitch in her past a secret.
I'd see Kelly Ann driving around town in her BMW over the next several months. She never noticed me but I sure did her. The car was a fire red convertible and she'd zoom down the street with her hair flying. Every once in a while I'd see her picture in the Daily Times feature section, aligned with one charity or another. Sometimes she'd be with her husband, others her father or mother in-law. But in each she had a great smile.
The girl had married well.
About five months after the wedding I saw her at Starbucks, the same one that I hit her with my blackmail proposal prior to her wedding. She was sitting there with a friend, I waved and smiled, she waved back. A quick hello and introduction ("Meet Jon, he's a friend from high school") but not much else.
I will say she looked marvelous, and I surmised marriage was treating her well. The finest clothes and cars, to say nothing of a fabulous house on the hill overlooking the city.
Of course, late at night, I'd sometimes think about Kelly Ann sucking my cock. It generally only took a couple minutes before I'd shoot my spunk and slip off to a fitful sleep. I was jealous of The Jerk, her husband, but it is what it is, was what it was.
Searching one day for a birthday present for my father, I ran into Kelly Ann at Nordstrom...literally. I was looking aimlessly around while she had been looking at something in a counter. She turned as I turned and boom, we hit and stumbled. We both did a double take and then began laughing.
After exchanging various hellos and how are you doings, she helped me select a present for my dad before we sat in the food court and talked about a variety of things.
Then she startled me. "You were so wrong in what you did, you know, on my wedding day," said the beautiful girl. "I don't think I can ever forgive you."
I smiled, it wasn't wrong at all. It was fabulous, having her suck me off in the vestibule before greeting her soon to be husband. Doing it with friends and family steps away. Watching her kiss him on the alter. No, it was spectacular.
"I can't believe you made me go through with it," said the girl, sternly. "You know if he knew he'd kill you."
"But he won't know, will he, Kelly Ann?"
She shook her head no.
With that she moved onto another topic, and I was left with what was that all about thought. In any event we spoke on her new life, her family, and how she missed "her" friends. Midway through the hour-long conversation Kelly Ann turned to me and smiled. "I miss talking with you, Rob, we should do this again."
I mentioned her husband wouldn't like that, and she laughed. "He'd kick both of our asses if he saw us together. I don't know what it is, he doesn't know you and yet he doesn't like you. He doesn't like any of my friends from the Burbs. If he had his way I'd only be able to interact with his family or their friends."
Muttering something about that being an awful way to life, she added that the benefits were great. The house, the car, the credit cards. All were incentives to do what she had to do.
As we were leaving I asked for her cell number, but she declined. "Too risky," she said. "James is a snooper." But as she was walking away she turned and asked for mine. "Maybe I will give you a yell when I need help with a present and you can return the favor."
Laughing, I hoped she'd call.
To some, a month is a long time. To others it's just a short wait. Awaiting Kelly Ann's call was a little of each for me, as my mind would shift back and forth from a will she, won't she call scenario. I sure wanted her to call, and to help the odds made sure I visited "our" Starbucks several days a week.
No luck on the latter. I had lots of coffee, but never weaved paths with the beautiful and talented Mrs. James B. Jackson.
I was at the softball field, awaiting my turn at bat, when my cell rang. "Jon, it's me," said Kelly Ann as if she spoke with me daily. "Got a minute? I need your help over at the mall."
Taking my turn at bat I pretended I was injured running out a ground ball, limping to my car and speeding to the mall.
We met at Nordstrom, where I helped her select two shirts and ties and a pair of dress pants. Along the way we laughed at the absurdity of me helping buy clothes for her husband, to say nothing of the smart ass remarks I made about her chest and backside.
As I walked her to her car I asked if she ever did it in a parking lot.
"Assuredly not," came her emphatic reply.
"Want to?"
She called me a wise ass, but what she didn't know was I was being serious. I almost, almost popped the question with a little, "and if you don't I will show my tape to your husband" ploy but I didn't.
Kelly Ann smiled and called me a horn-dog, which, I suspect, I am, but nothing more. She promised to call me again when she needed clothing help. I asked that she definitely call me if she needed help selecting lingerie. She gave me a playful slap and merely said, "yea, don't hold your breath" but did it in a playful way.
Point is, she seemed happy with her new life but missed some of the old. Or maybe she merely liked toying with me. Whatever, I know I really enjoyed our time together. I wondered when the next call would come.
I realized that night that if she didn't call, I would have to bump into her and tell her about the extra copy of the tape. If my good nature didn't incent her to see me, then maybe the threat of another copy of her starting role as a teenage blowjob queen would.
Lucky for her it wasn't a long wait and I didn't need to blackmail her again. Just a little less than 24 hours after our most recent pow wow the phone rang.
"Jon, can you meet me for a minute?"
Of course I could. We agreed on Starbucks, it was safe as it provided an easy cover story if we happened to be "caught".
She looked a mess. Beautiful, but a mess. Her hair wasn't perfect, and I can't remember the last time I saw it where it wasn't. She was wearing jeans, with holes in them no less, and a cheap looking top.
"I was working in my garden, and James said he was going to play golf, so I figured I had a couple hours to get away...he's such a jerk."
I had the feeling something was wrong, but I didn't want to ask. This was her show.
We made small talk for a couple minutes before she began talking about last night. Seems that when she got home James was in an amorous mood. He wanted to fool around in the living room, but thought better of it because his mom and dad were in the house visiting.
Still, he was insistent about "getting some" as she called it. I may be the horn dog, but it appears her husband likes to get it on as well. I couldn't figure out why she was telling me this, but as I asked what was going on she told me to shoosh.
"Let me talk, if I stop I will leave, I'll lose by nerve," said the girl, drawing a deep breath. "Anyway, James wanted to fool around and I know when he gets that way it's best to give in whether I'm in the mood or not."
I must have had an inquisitive look, something she quickly read.
"Look, it's a long story, but when he gets mad he gets nasty. He's hit me, not hard enough to bruise, but he has a way of hurting me. Calling me names. Reminding me of his family's money. He can be very persuasive, even though it makes me feel like I'm a whore or something. I get in the mood, or at least, well, perform."
The girl looked pale. I remained quiet, letting her say what and when she wanted.
